


Step Off the Edge of the World

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Depressing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-it, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Pre-Relationship, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2711000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>". . . Abbie," Ichabod breathes.</p><p>She wants to say she's fine, wants to tell him off for the <i>one time </i>he's walked into her bedroom without knocking, door open or no, she wants a hole to open up in the center of the bed and suck her away into a realm where she was the one that was killed tonight, but she can't do any of that, so she just curls in on herself and tries to stifle her tears into the blankets.</p><p>  <b>Spoilers for "The Akeda". Set following the episode.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Step Off the Edge of the World

**Author's Note:**

> First off, if you didn't see it in the summary: spoilers for "The Akeda"!
> 
> Secondly, *sigh*. Just that. I'm really depressed over him. I guessed him, but still. I do believe he's going to be back, but still.
> 
> Thirdly, I know it's not an episode fix-it, per se, but the whole episode was actually really quite... meh, so I had to write something that was a little more Ichabod&Abbie involved, given how the show is supposed to be about them to begin with.
> 
> I do not own _Sleepy Hollow_. Thanks for reading!

Abbie doesn't get around to grieving for a long time.

Or, at least, not until later that night, which, for after what they've experienced, _is_ a long time.

Henry had turned his back on them. Not that Abbie had expected him to embrace Crane and Katrina with open arms after everything, but he _had_ thrust the sword into Moloch's chest. And immediately after doing so, he had dropped the sword and strode off with as much gusto as he could, being injured and all. Abbie didn't know where he was going, she still doesn't, and she doesn't care right now. She isn't sure if she'll care about him, or Abraham, or any of this, again, to be honest, and she isn't in the mood to lie to herself.

Jenny had gone back to the Freemason cell to tell Hawley the good news. Abbie had received a text saying that he was still alive and well. Moloch had not tried to break Abraham free. She doesn't know where to begin with what they're going to do with aforementioned headless zombie of death, but they'll save that for another day. Tomorrow, even, if it has to be soon. Just not right now.

Jenny had offered to give the Cranes a ride back to the cabin, but only Katrina had accepted while Ichabod had vehemently refused. _"Allow me to accompany you home, at the very least, Lieutenant,"_ he had said and no matter of how he was going to get home afterwards would dissuade him. Abbie thinks he plans to walk back when the storm subsides. Abbie doesn't blame him.

They all need their coping time now.

Which is how they had gotten where they were, her and him, standing in the entrance of her place. The electricity's still on, but it's flickering onimously in the lightning and wind that's dwindling away. Abbie tries to shrug off her jacket.

"Here." Ichabod steps forward and gently helps her out of the dirty and torn leather, taking pains with her injured arm that she's long since stopped feeling. Jenny had done her stitches after the fight, with the first-aid kit that Abbie's kept in the back of her car since she learned about being a Witness. She knew it would come in handy sometime.

"Thanks." Abbie lets her coat fall to the floor. She'll burn it later. Just like she'll burn everything she's wearing, to destroy the blood evidence of a fight as well as the reminder of what happened. "Give me a minute, I'll make some tea," and her tone sounds lacklustre, even to herself.

A year ago, she would have said defeating Moloch was a reason to celebrate. Tonight, instead, she just wants to be done with the whole thing. No celebration, no declaration, no anything. She never wants to revisit it again.

"Allow me." Ichabod follows her steps into the kitchen.

Abbie blankly watches as he reaches for the kettle and fills it with water from the tap. His hands have blood on them; no longer are they steady. But he fills the kettle and turns her stove on for the water to get hot. They lock gazes briefly; he forces a smile. It's in that moment that he truly shows his age. For, in that second, he does look like he's two-hundred and fifty years old with the fate of world on his shoulders. His face is etched with lines of worry and pain and hardship, and his eyes are tired and sad. He still manages to smile.

Abbie tries, but she isn't sure she manages a response. Instead, she leaves him to make the tea while she goes to strip out of the remnants of the battle: bright crimson on her shirt and dirty pieces of tree roots that are tangled in her hair.

She keeps reminding herself that it's over, that it's done with, and their duties have been fulfilled. She tries not to linger on how useless she feels, or how victory has come with a soured taste in her mouth. She drops her revolver onto her dresser and unclips the badge from her belt.

_Sleepy Hollow Sheriff's Department_

Abbie runs her fingers over the letters on her badge. Was this her fate all along? To stay in Sleepy Hollow, become a Lieutenant within the police, and to be a factor in the war against the Apocalypse? It must have been. Abbie wonders how many people died just to get her into the place she was supposed to be in.

It was Mama first, back when Abbie didn't know what was happening with the world around her. When she was beautifully oblivious. She wonders how happy she would have been if she hadn't known about the supernatural world surrounding them. She thinks she might be a lot happier, but then she wouldn't have ever met Crane, and her and her sister probably would have gone their seperate ways nonetheless. Was that all preferable to this now? Abbie wonders.

And then the next brick fell when Corbin was murdered, and Abbie had stepped into her place as a reluctant Witness. She had learned to embrace it, even, but the thought of a peaceful life had never gone away. It still hasn't.

Especially after Irving. He had wanted nothing to do with this war, and he'd been dragged into it by Abbie's involvement with Moloch. And now, Irving's dead, and Abbie can still live and breathe.

It's not at all fair, because this was _her_ destiny.

The badge falls from her hands. She buries her face into her arms and her fingers into her hair and _tries_ so hard not to go to pieces. But she's been in pieces since the very beginning. It might be over now, but in so many ways, it just doesn't even matter anymore.

Abbie crawls onto her bed and buries her face in her arms and just sobs.

She should be happy. She knows that. And of course it matters; they saved the world. But at the cost of so many lives that were so innocent, at the cost of inconceivable pain for herself and those around her. Crane, ripped from his century and tasked with a curse he knew nothing about. Katrina, trapped in Purgatory for centuries. Jenny, losing a sister and then regaining her in the middle of war where they had no time to make up for anything. Hawley, dragged into something that didn't involve him at _all_ and he wasn't even a Witness. Mama, drove out of her mind crazy over worrying for her babies. August, working undercover as a supernaturalist to figure the cases that would have seemed impossible to any other cop. And Irving, devoted Irving, giving his life and his soul up for all of it, for them as Witnesses and their friends, for sweet little Macey and his wife and the rest of the world. And herself? She's a mess, but she had figured that being a mess was just part of being a Witness. Her problems, her responsibility. But it's stretched even beyond that now.

"The water's boiled, but what brew..."

Ichabod's voice makes her stiffen up and she bites into her lip hard enough to taste blood as he trails off. He isn't supposed to see her like this. She isn't ever supposed to _be_ like this.

". . . Abbie," Ichabod breathes.

She wants to say she's fine, wants to tell him off for the _one time_ he's walked into her bedroom without knocking, door open or no, she wants a hole to open up in the center of the bed and suck her away into a realm where _she_ was the one that was killed tonight, not Frank, but she can't do any of that, so she just curls in on herself and tries to stifle her tears into the blankets.

The mattress shifts slightly as Ichabod takes a seat on the edge of it. Abbie tenses up, all but prepared for a hug or some other declaration that everything's going to be okay. It doesn't come. Instead, Ichabod is silent and still for a few moments before he gently places his hand in the small of her back. It's the smallest of touches; it's almost more than enough for Abbie's already grated emotions.

He doesn't say that he's sorry, or that it's going to be alright. Abbie is infinitely grateful that he says absolutely nothing at all.

His fingers tighten on the back of her shirt, pressing firmly against her skin. It takes her a minute that he's trying to coax her over, but giving her the space if she wants it, too, and she does want the space, she does, she wants him to go back home, to Katrina and his life, so, why, then, is she compelled to take heed to his request?

He's Ichabod. He's the second Witness, the other half to their whole. And he's always been there, distracted or not. He has _always_ been there.

Abbie ends up half on his lap, refusing to sit up for the hug that should have been because she's determined that, even if he's here, now, he isn't going to be witness to the grief and pain and exhaustion on her face. So, she ends up half on his lap and crying into his coat and shirt with his arm securely around her back.

"Abbie..." Ichabod whispers, his fingers brushing through her tangled hair. "My dear, sweet, strong Abbie..."

How he can say all of those things, Abbie has no idea. She's clearly not any of those things, reduced to this, but the sentiment makes her struggle to hang onto the last visages of her sanity.

She doesn't know how long she stays like that, in grief for _everything_ that they've gone through, with Ichabod perched on the mattress and whispering sweet nothings into the near silence to console her. When she's finally out of tears, she feels sick and exhausted, eyes swollen and heart heavy. She wants nothing than to roll over and sleep for a decade, but knows she'll probably only end up with a few hours at most.

She untangles herself from Ichabod. She wants to say something but doesn't have the words. She is positive that she has never been more miserable in her life, and yes, she is aware that it's a selfish feeling.

But Ichabod's cheeks are stained with his tears and, although he smiles at her just as weakly as he had in the kitchen, the grief in his eyes is tenfold, too.

Abbie manages a small smile this time. It's the closest that she'll be able to get to _thank you_ for awhile.

"It's over," Ichabod says quietly.

Abbie lets out a deep breath and nods. "... Yeah." She stares at the wall opposite her, listens to the rushing of blood in her ears.

Ichabod moves then, to take off his coat and let it fall to the floor, and then surprises Abbie by laying down to face her. She meets his gaze briefly, and there's nothing there at all about laying next to each other or having their shoes on the bedding. He just looks sad, and resigned, and weary, but there's still that little sad smile, and it's the faintest flicker of hope.

Abbie unsticks her tongue from the roof of her mouth. "You should be at home... with Katrina," she supplies. "It's late..."

"We have waited this long," Ichabod replies calmly. "I do not think that one more night will shatter Katrina and I's relationship any further. I will not leave you alone tonight."

"But..."

Ichabod offers her his hand. "You were the other Witness. We are a pair. This was our night, and I am not leaving you now."

Abbie closes her eyes briefly and then reaches out to take his hand. She entwines their fingers and squeezes tightly, her knuckles pressing into the mattress and her palm against his skin.

Words are lost to her again.

So, she just closes her eyes and forgets that she's bloody and dirty and depressed, that Ichabod smells like the woods and sweat and gunpowder, and that there's death to face in the morning, in more ways than just the one.

She just closes her eyes and holds onto Ichabod's hand because she knows - that's the only way they're going to get through this: together.

**Author's Note:**

> PS This isn't really meant to be romance. I wanted to say that they're not implying cheating on Katrina. They're just staying the night together, very platonically, with no intention of doing anything except watching over each other. Ichabod will never cheat on Katrina in my verse.


End file.
